Chance
by Silver Blazen
Summary: Peggy learns that sometimes all it takes to see a good man is to dare the heart, and to take a leap of faith beyond her expectations. CA:FA-Steve and Peggy.


**Chance**

 **All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

 **I own nothing**

* * *

Peggy never liked to do things simple.

09:00

She stood in front of the closed door; her hand was inches from hitting the wood. It was her decision.

She doesn't make a choice like this often; usually she allowed the small distractions to fade away. She managed to stay true to her word. A pledge to her guarded and taming aplomb heart. Although, she would never admit it, she wanted to put on a uniform fight with boys on the front lines.

Now, she was reaching an impasse of choice and integrity. All the rest of the SSR agents had overlooked and demean Private Steven Grant Rogers from the candidate list. They called him pathetic and utterly insignificant.

In other words Private Rogers was unfit to serve his country on the: Western Allied Front. Some of the major sergeants regarded him with disgusted looks as he trudged down the halls, frail and unable to pace his breath without emitting a harsh wheeze.

During the training morning drills, Steve always looked out of breath, exhausted and feverish. Somehow, the little guy from Brooklyn managed to push himself harder and harder, and even though there had been delays, he always found a way to pick himself up off the ground, and carry on fight. That's all that mattered.

Peggy had been observing Steve from General Phillips, writing down reports of his process and weakness. His physical exam papers when he enlisted numerous times under different surnames to prevent himself from getting declined. July 24, 1943 was his last try of enlistment in Brooklyn. She looked down at the file, her jeweled brown eyes scanned intently over the coffee stained document, which she guessed was in disorganized pile of Colonel Chester Phillips' desk.

Military service no : 987654320 T420

Steven Rogers was born on July, 4th, 1918. His height was 5'7 inches and weight 110 lbs. His eyes were blue and hair more like ashen blonde. His pulse was below the normal rate and eyesight was poor.

She kept on reading the information, wanting a clearer understanding of his health issues. There was long list that seemed to disconcerting to her.

He was born with a weaken heart. Iron deficient. His immune system was damaged from his growth development and he was a survivor of a rheumatic and scarlet fever, which she believed was the cause of his strained heart. He had suffered asthma and was constantly fighting reoccurring colds. His levels of anxiety rendered him to have frequent panic attacks: not to mention that he lived in a household with TB carrier. His mother: Sarah Rogers.

Shaking her head, Peggy removed the silver plated dog tags from sealed envelope stamped with the symbol of the US Military. She held them to the dim light as the metal cooled over her palm, and reading the letters and serial numbers embossed in the plates.

STEVEN G ROGERS

987654320 T420 O P

Peggy traced her poised thumb over the engraving, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door with defiance and ardent determination. She waited for reply, listening to the sounds of harsh coughing as the door opened, and there standing in his white SSR uniform shirt hanging loosely over his bony shoulders with his cropped blonde hair combed neatly was Steve, his expression slacked as he desperately tried to make himself presentable for her. Smiling to herself, despite how ridiculous to seem; she had acknowledged his efforts of reluctance to engage in conversation.

"I hope you don't mind if I come in, Private Rogers." Peggy spoke simply; her English accent held tenderness and intent. Her deep and impenetrable eyes stared down at his scanty form. "I have to give you another assessment before the doctors take a few more blood tests." she told him, before adding."It won't be long-"

"Steven," he said respectfully, with a polite edge with hoarseness drawling in his voice. His light azure eyes bright and trusting, despite the ailing paleness in his complexion. It was obvious that he was nervous to be around her. It sort of belittled him.

A glum frown across his thinned, gaunt features, and he snapped his solemn blue eyes to the floor. "Or you can call me, Steve," he offered, apparently intimated to her presence. "It doesn't really matter..."

He was breaking out of a feverish sweat. His anxiety levels were spiking. "I mean...You can come inside, Miss Carter," he shuddered, sounding utterly pathetic at the least. "I was just drawing." he added with a tad cadence of honesty. "It's the only time I can have to myself before my bunk mates come back from the bar."

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line, and faulted back a step. He was uneasy and almost timid. The world felt like it tilted, he could feel his scrawny form shifting off balance as the waves of vertigo crushed against his skull. He stared down at the folder with disdain. Still, he managed to quirk his lips into a weak smile "...I guess you already knew that information."

Peggy smirked a little at that, still clutching the dog tags."Don't worry Steve. Your secret is safe with me," she assured plainly, clicking her clicked her wedged black heels to the small spring mattress. There was already disorder in the room, she glanced around, taking mental notes of the lack of discipline of simple chores. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she sat down, elegantly crossing her legs. "I have some questions to ask you, and if you are uncomfortable to answer them. I will understand perfectly."

Steve nodded, and sheepishly curved his lips into a lopsided smirk. The dullness faded out of his blue eyes with hopeful light as he refocused on her. "Okay, ask away, Miss Carter," he said with shaky exhale, his eyes lowered to the floor.

"First and foremost, I prefer to be called Agent Carter or simply Peggy," she brusquely snapped in return. There was a hint of fire rising in her voice. She flipped through his file, while managing to ignore her disobedient heart. She tried to keep her regal equanimity, narrowing her eyes on the papers gathered on her lap.

Sighing out a calm breath, Peggy pretended that he wasn't looking at her. Her pen tapped against the bed frame, and her full, red lips became neutral. Serene and collective. "Why did you decide to enlist with the US Army?" she asked, settling her curious gaze back onto him.

Steve gingerly sat down on the bed across from her, keeping himself distant. "I guess I wanted a chance to fight for people who can't fight on their own, Peggy." He replied, his voice straining as he tried to suppress the pain borrowing deep in his lungs. "For as long as I can remember I've seen the little guys like me being put on the ropes because they were considered weak and useless."

She didn't reply, just listened to the measure of pain in his voice.

He dipped his head down, almost feeling all blood drain from his heart. "I know that each of us can become capable of holding strength if we believe in ourselves and don't let the bullies throw us down." He coughed into a shaky fist, wincing as his chest rippled under his thinned shirt. "It's not often that we are given a chance to do something true for a cause that involves freedom." He looked into her chestnut eyes, a pitch of effort made him confess willingly. "I'm not afraid to die out there, but I am afraid of giving up before I have a chance to fight."

Peggy blinked thoughtfully. For a moment, he didn't appear to carry weakness nor did he look small, thin and sickly. He looked strong and humble.

 _...A good soldier..._

"That's an exceptional answer. Most of the men here care only about the uniform to get a lady's attention," she sternly admitted, revulsion evident in her voice; it was the truth. "I have discovered that those soldiers out here disgrace everything that symbolizes freedom and liberty." She glanced at his stoic expression, understanding his potential and mostly his weakened heart." They rather just play war games and return home to their mothers than fight for what is right in this world, Steve."

Steve dismally lowered his eyes, grimacing as he felt clogging fluid in his lungs sticking against his ribs. It was a struggle for him to breathe. There was stabbing pain eating away at his narrow chest, force seemed to become forced out of his lungs. Still, he pushed himself. "I don't want to wear a uniform to prove that I'm army strong, but to show people that sometimes strength can become a burden that all men carry on their backs. Wearing a uniform makes all soldiers equal on the battle front, Peggy."

"I suppose you're right, Steve." she clarified with pleasant tone and wrote down a few notes on his file."From my understanding your family immigrated from Northern Ireland." Steve gave her rather a short nod in response, she saw the grievance welled in his clear blue eyes. He had no one to go back home to, it really put a dent in her heart.

For a moment, the young private was trembling. Peggy noticed his unease."You don't have to pretend to be brave in front of me, Private Rogers," she assured with a twist of a trusting smirk, managing to glance at his tattered sketch book. She needed to show him, that he could trust her. "I guess you must draw a lot, since you keep that book under your pillow."

Steve knitted his eyebrows together. He looked dumbfounded. "How did you know about that, Peggy?" he asked holding seriousness in his raspy tone, looking at the pencil shavings under the desk. "I'm sorry if it's against regulation..." He seemed mildly ashamed. "I will stop."

Peggy shook her head, "'There is no reason to stop what you're passionate about, Steve." she drawled with a firm voice. "I have great respect for man who captures the small details when others just blur them out."

"I can't capture everything..." Steve admitted, soulfully, tipping his head low. He effectually squeezed his small hand into a rigid fist. "I don't know what the color of red looks like on a canvas. Since I've been colored blind all my..." he paused to breath out a deep, bitter sigh. "...life."

Peggy smiled to herself, a rare and genuine expression that she allowed to break through the cracks of her stern and fierce countenance. "Red is a pure and rich color. Every woman wears it to get a man's attention and also it becomes a power that we hold when choosing the right partner for a dance..." she paused, feeling a sudden wave of absence crash against her indomitable and stalwart emotions.

Steve looked vaguely lost in his emotions, and then she intently watched a slow, frail smile spread over his pale and thinned features.

It wasn't easy to let the small things slip through the rifts of her walls, but there was twist of a chance to feel a sudden flare of trust with him. Overwhelmed. She absently jotted down a small note; and regained her cool confidence and strength in her soft voice, watching his gaunt face slack into a despondent expression. There was a brief silence. She latched her impassive eyes, keeping her knowing gaze steady on his slouching form. "I suppose red now belongs on the battlefield since it's the only prime color that outlines the art of destruction, fear and death."

Steve fastened his lips into a frail line, fighting against the dull ache increasing in his ribs. Breath hitched, and he pressed his fist into the middle of his chest. With his face blanching into sickly white, he fixed his eyes on her, in that moment he gazed into her vibrant brown eyes, all his pain subsided. "I know there can be no victory with men laying down their lives in the name of freedom," he murmured quietly, with a strained pant.

Peggy listened to his struggle, a harsh battle of air forcing out of his damaged lungs. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to hold enough strength to stare into the embers of fire veiled by the darkness of her eyes. "...I'm tired of watching news reels of footage that show only gray shades, and not the full picture of war. A lot of kids in my neighborhood are fighting for a cause that will mean nothing if they're lost without someone to guide them back home."

"You think that you're ready to put on uniform and see the big picture, Steve?" Peggy inquired, steering her gaze back to the frail, blonde haired soldier in front of her. "Is this the life you want to see yourself living? To become a hero and prove to those men out there that you're strong enough to carry on the good fight?"

Her dark eyes trawled further down the document attached onto her clipboard, she ingested the details of his illness, but a part of her resisted to read off the medical report-she knew Steve already heard those words a dozen times over. "Tell me what do you think it means to be a soldier?" She placed the clipboard on the mattress and folded her hands against her lap.

"A soldier isn't a weapon lining up to destroy a life. He is a shield. A big brother who will always protect the little guy. On the battlefield a soldier will carry everything just to bring a boy back home," Steve answered, narrowing his blue eyes. He pulled out crinkled postcard of Brooklyn from a pocket, feeling his sense of duty to protect his home. "...sometimes he forgets which road to take."

Peggy settled her eyes on the silver dog tags. "The world needs a soldier who can be both a shield and compass." She placed the chained necklace into his palm, and smiled warmly at his abashed expression. "You can become stronger than anything you've face, Steve. You just need to believe in yourself and never back down. Got it?" she ordered in a clipped voice, leveling her piercing stare at him.

"Yes, ma'am," Steve echoed back, with a firmness in his voice. He clutched the dog tags, wanting to smile, but instead he found her brown eyes with his tender blue gaze, and whispered. "...always do what Peggy says."

"Well, that will be all, Private Rogers" Peggy dismissed. She eased herself off the mattress, clicking her heels back to the doorway. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and tugged her red lips into knowing smile, "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Peggy," Steve gave her a curt nod. An honest smile of acceptance grew over his ashen colored lips. "Thank you."

Peggy furrowed her eyebrows, almost baffled by the gravity of his words. "For what, Steve?" she asked, searching in his shining and unyielding blue eyes.

"For giving me a chance," Steve said, sincerely, holding the dog tags close to his narrow chest. He understood the worth of those silver plates, and that compassion was strength not to become tampered with during battle. Life was a daring responsibility, and to be a great soldier meant holding valor, reverence and integrity in his heart. "...to prove myself out there," he said faintly, holding the dog tags tight.

"You're very welcome, Steve," she replied, simply.

With that, Peggy gave him one last glance before stepping out of the room and set off on her way back into shambolic world, holding her unbreakable and guarded demeanor; while her heart had been touched by a kid from Brooklyn who wanted to fight for cause greater than she had ever known.

In her eyes, Steve was already a leading her to new and extraordinary purpose, beyond the frays of destruction. A new relationship was forged, as she felt her heart dancing. She was on the verge of living a new dream, with a young soldier who never danced with a lady in red. Peggy remembered his wish, staring down at his file, and writing down on last words for her report.

 _Steve Rogers is good man who will fight for all of us._

Oddly enough, Peggy knew it wasn't going to be an easy road to be taken, but a challenge and when she looked back at the barrack door, she had accepted it.

"You're more than you believe yourself to be, Steve," she whispered, smiling at that truth. The amber glow of his window reflected in her certain eyes. "Dream well my good soldier, for tomorrow you will be leading us to victory."

With that, Peggy pivoted on her heels, and walked away with steady and confident strides with the declaration of hope in her hand.

 _Project: Rebirth_

Applicant Name: Steven Grant Rogers

She already knew that he was chosen to become the world's first super-soldier; even though it wasn't written on paper yet.

 **The End**


End file.
